


fever dream

by stonedgeralt



Series: comms batch 1 [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26251636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonedgeralt/pseuds/stonedgeralt
Summary: “What do you remember?”Closing his eyes, Geralt focuses hard. He vaguely remembers being in a town, then in a forest, but can’t recall how he’d gotten from one to the other. He remembers cool water, then a horrible burning sensation. After that… nothing.---Jaskier cares for Geralt when he falls ill. In his fever-induced delirium, Geralt can't suppress his yearning any longer.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: comms batch 1 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889128
Comments: 30
Kudos: 349





	fever dream

**Author's Note:**

> My first sickfic! Thanks so much to Brel for this prompt and for your support ❤
> 
> Thanks to [Dallie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubadore) for betaing once again and helping me when I got stuck!

When he opens his eyes, Geralt is startled to find that night has fallen. He groans quietly as he evaluates himself: He’s unbearably hot, his head is pounding, and his entire body is one big ache.

“Geralt?” 

He tries to speak, but can only manage a weak rasp. Geralt feels a hand slip gingerly beneath his head; it lifts him as a water skin is pressed to his lips.

“You must be parched,” Jaskier says.

Geralt drinks greedily, nearly emptying the skin. He coughs a few times and curses at the pain it causes. “Wh’ happened?” he asks blearily.

“I… don’t exactly know.” Jaskier settles beside him. “What do you remember?”

Closing his eyes, Geralt focuses hard. He vaguely remembers being in a town, then in a forest, but can’t recall how he’d gotten from one to the other. He remembers cool water, then a horrible burning sensation. After that… nothing. He relays this information to Jaskier, hoping he can fill in the blanks.

“Oh, Brosne,” Jaskier says. “We, er… had to leave abruptly.”

Geralt grumbles. “Who did you fuck?”

“That’s not important,” Jaskier says quickly. “After that, you found a stream and decided to bathe. But the water must have been toxic.”

“Toxic?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes dramatically. “You were in the middle of mocking me for not being able to swim, you prick.” His tone turns serious. “Then you went all… _weird._ You managed to get yourself out of the water, but you were clearly in pain, and your skin was so hot. You’ve been mostly asleep since yesterday.”

Geralt’s head is spinning. He swam in a toxic stream - how could he have been so careless? Now he’s been out for more than a day, _and_ they’d evidently been run out of the nearest town, and subsequently cut off from the local healer.

Doing his best to make light of the situation, Geralt says, “Guess it’s lucky you can’t swim, then.”

“Guess so.” Jaskier grins and teases, “Now you know what happens to those who slight me.”

Geralt opens his mouth to respond, but his stomach growls, and he realizes he’s starving.

“You need to eat. Here, let me help.” Jaskier shifts to sit cross-legged behind him. “Sit up just a bit - yes, I know it hurts, but you can’t eat lying down.” He helps Geralt sit upright and murmurs, “That’s it, lean against me.”

Geralt hopes his flushed skin hides the blush creeping up his neck. He shivers when his bare back touches Jaskier’s chest, exposed by the open neck of his chemise.

“You definitely have a fever,” Jaskier says. “I have chamomile in my pack. I’ll make you some tea after you’ve eaten.”

Geralt is suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s nude under his blanket, and that Jaskier had touched his naked body, and that he’s currently touching him - holding him, really. Jaskier’s arms are wrapped loosely around Geralt’s waist, keeping him upright against his chest. The realization sends a thrill up his spine.

Jaskier hands him a strip of venison. “Here,” he murmurs. “Eat.”

Geralt eats until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer. Jaskier eases him back down onto his bedroll and promises that he’ll have chamomile tea ready for him when he wakes again. Geralt swears he feels gentle fingers against his forehead, brushing away his sweat-damp hair. He hums softly and lets sleep take him.

*** 

The next time, Geralt wakes up screaming, writhing under his blanket as his body fights off an imaginary foe. 

“Geralt, stop.” Jaskier grips Geralt’s wrists to still his flailing arms. “It’s just a nightmare. It’s not real.” 

“You,” Geralt gasps. “It hurt you.”

“Nothing hurt me.” Jaskier’s voice is sweet and soothing. He really has a lovely voice. Geralt should tell him that. “I’m alright, see?”

Geralt reaches out clumsily and presses his palm to Jaskier’s doublet, over his beating heart. It had seemed so real - hot, red blood oozing from the wound in Jaskier’s stomach as the light faded from his blue eyes. But here he is, unhurt, warm and real and _alive._

Jaskier rests his hand over Geralt’s and smiles. “Alive and well.”

“Good.” Geralt smiles back.

Jaskier’s forehead creases again. “Try to rest. I’ll heat some of the tea.” He tries to stand up, but Geralt stops him.

“Don’t go,” he says. “Please stay.”

Jaskier blinks at him. “I... Alright.” He settles back into his spot next to Geralt. 

“Stay,” Geralt repeats. He needs to make sure Jaskier understands.

“I will. Now rest.”

Geralt does.

***

He wakes to singing. 

Geralt thinks it’s morning, but can’t really tell. Shadows flicker just outside his field of vision, but when Geralt turns his head, they’re gone. _Hallucinations_ , his weary brain supplies. _Not real._ Jaskier is standing near the fire, crooning softly. Geralt doesn’t recognize the song - or even the words, really - but it sounds nice.

He says as much; the singing stops and Jaskier says, “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” Geralt’s tongue feels strange in his mouth. “Tea?”

“Right here.” Jaskier moves toward him, holding a small cup. “Do you need help?”

Geralt doesn’t answer. He’s too busy staring at Jaskier, specifically at the dark hair curling from beneath the neckline of his chemise, which hangs crooked from his shoulders. 

“Geralt?”

“You’re hairy,” Geralt says, awestruck. How hadn’t he noticed before?

Jaskier laughs, a startled sound. “Er, yes, I suppose I am.”

“Can I touch?”

“I— What?”

“Please?” Geralt might be pouting. He’s not sure, though - it’s hard to tell what his muscles are doing.

“Geralt…” Jaskier’s voice is strained. “I don’t think—”

“Won’t tell,” Geralt says, his voice low. One of the shadows could be listening. “Our secret.”

Jaskier is silent for a long time. Then he sighs. “Fine. But you have to drink this tea after.” He sits cross-legged beside Geralt, sets the cup aside, and waits.

“Down here,” Geralt says. “With me.”

Jaskier makes a strangled sound, but he shifts to lie on his side next to Geralt. He smells nice, like fresh oranges and cinnamon buns. Geralt realizes he’s hungry - when had he eaten last?

Jaskier’s voice is clipped when he says, “Well, go on.”

“C’mere.” Geralt reaches out and rests his hand over the thatch of hair between Jaskier’s pectorals. He hums thoughtfully as he trails his fingers through it. “Soft,” he murmurs.

“Mm,” Jaskier says, his mouth a tight line.

Geralt flattens his palm over Jaskier’s sternum. It’s nice, being close to Jaskier. He’s imagined it before, touching Jaskier like this, and he realizes that maybe Jaskier would like an invitation to do the same.

“Touch me, too,” Geralt says. “If y’ want.”

Jaskier gasps sharply. His voice shakes when he answers, “I don’t think I should.”

“Hm. Alright.” Geralt slides his hand slowly toward Jaskier’s collarbone, then up the side of his neck. His skin is soft and warm against Geralt’s palm. “Pretty,” he says softly. 

Jaskier’s breathing is shallow, his face flushed pink. “Geralt, I—” With a heavy sigh, he closes his eyes. When he opens them, there’s determination in his gaze. “Ah, fuck it.” Jaskier leans forward and kisses Geralt firmly, cupping his face in shaking hands.

A surprised sound escapes him, but Geralt doesn’t pull away. He’s imagined this, too, Jaskier’s lips on his own, and it’s so much better than anything his mind has conjured up. His head is swimming, and Geralt has to put all of his focus into kissing Jaskier back.

Jaskier sighs, and it’s such a happy sound that Geralt can’t help but smile. Kissing Jaskier is very nice. _Jaskier_ is very nice. Annoying, yes, but kind and sweet and good at kissing. Maybe that’s why Geralt is in love with him.

He pulls away, then. He should probably tell Jaskier that he loves him. It seems appropriate, now that they’ve kissed. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, at the same time that Jaskier blurts, “I’m sorry.”

Geralt frowns. “For what?” His hand is still resting on the side of Jaskier’s neck.

“For… _that._ ” 

“I liked it.” Geralt strokes his thumb along Jaskier’s jaw. “Can we do it again?”

Jaskier shifts backwards; Geralt’s hand falls away. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Oh.” Geralt is shivering despite being terribly hot. He tries to kick the blanket off of him, but can’t manage it. He grumbles in frustration and looks at Jaskier pleadingly.

“Ah, er…” Jaskier sits up and pulls the blanket up from Geralt’s feet, folding it carefully over his thighs. “Better?”

Geralt stares down at his feet and wiggles his toes. Has he always had this many of them? “Yeah,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Do you want your tea?” Jaskier asks.

“Wanna kiss you again,” Geralt replies. “Was nice. I liked it.”

“I…” Jaskier sighs. “I liked it, too.”

This gives Geralt hope. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier says with a soft smile. “But you’re sick, and our deal was that you’d drink your tea.”

“But—”

“No buts, Geralt.”

“Fine,” Geralt grumbles. 

Jaskier settles in behind Geralt and helps him drink. Geralt is still weak; he leans heavily against Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier uses his free hand to run his fingers through Geralt’s hair, humming the song he sang earlier. 

Before he lays back down, Geralt presses a clumsy kiss to Jaskier’s cheek and says, “Thank you.”

Jaskier’s hand freezes in Geralt’s hair. “For what?”

“Kissing me,” Geralt answers. He settles into his bedroll and closes his eyes.

“Why?” Jaskier’s voice is very soft. He sounds… scared?

“‘Cause it was nice.” Geralt yawns and adds, “Even better than I thought it’d be.”

“Sorry, what? Geralt? Oh, don’t you _dare_ fall asleep—”

Jaskier’s voice fades as Geralt does exactly that.

***

Geralt wakes up panting. His bedroll and blanket are soaked in sweat; it runs in rivulets down his face and chest. 

“Fuck,” he groans. 

There’s a cool cloth pressed to his forehead. “Fever’s finally breaking,” Jaskier says. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” Geralt grumbles.

Jaskier laughs. “More like yourself, evidently.”

Geralt squints at him. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing. Can you sit up?”

With a bit of effort, Geralt pushes himself upright. His hair is plastered to the back of his neck and sticking to his cheeks. Jaskier brushes it away with the cloth, and uses a thin strip of leather to tie it back. 

Geralt looks around and takes stock of their surroundings. It’s dark - Geralt guesses that it’s probably near midnight. A small fire is burning to his left, and Roach grazes contentedly nearby. His armor sits neatly against a tree. The metal bits gleam in the moonlight - Jaskier must have cleaned it. 

“Thank you,” Geralt says.

“It’s nothing,” Jaskier replies. “Consider it my penance.”

Geralt snorts. He reaches for his pack and digs through it for something to eat. They sit in amicable silence for a bit while Jaskier absently pokes at the fire with a stick. Geralt focuses on remembering what had happened. It’s hazy, but he recalls bits of what must have been dreams: the taste of chamomile, the smell of citrus and cinnamon; gentle hands, warm skin beneath his palm, and a voice singing softly. 

“Had some interesting dreams,” Geralt comments.

“Yeah,” Jaskier replies. “Fever dreams aren’t often pleasant.”

Geralt hums thoughtfully at that. He decides to change the subject. “Odd that there weren’t warnings posted about the stream.”

“The locals must know about it.” Jaskier chuckles mirthlessly. “Though it’s unsurprising that they chose not to share that knowledge with us on our way out of town.”

Geralt snorts. He finishes his food while Jaskier continues to poke at the fire. Blazing embers float skyward and blink out. It’s peaceful and quiet. Despite being damp and sticky with sweat, Geralt _does_ feel better. Witchers don’t often fall ill - he’s not sure how long it would’ve taken his body to heal without Jaskier’s help.

“Thank you,” he says. “For taking care of me.”

A log topples over in the fire, and the flames flare brighter for just a moment. It bathes Jaskier in a warm glow, highlighting the thatch of hair on his chest. Geralt doesn’t hear Jaskier’s response; suddenly, everything comes back to him, clear as crystal, and he gasps softly. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier is beside him in an instant. “Are you alright?”

Geralt stares at him. His gaze flicks between Jaskier’s mouth and his eyes. When Geralt tries to speak, no words come out - just a rather embarrassing wheeze as the weight of his realization crashes down on him. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier rests his hand on Geralt’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. “What—?”

“You kissed me,” Geralt whispers.

Jaskier makes a choked sound and quickly pulls his hand away. “I— I thought—” He laughs, half-hysterical. “Fuck, Geralt, I’m—”

“Do it again.”

“What?”

Geralt puts his hand on Jaskier’s chest, over his heart, and repeats, “Do it again.”

Jaskier’s hands come up to cup Geralt’s face, thumbs stroking lightly over his cheekbones. He leans in and very gently presses his lips to Geralt’s waiting mouth, as if scared that Geralt will push him away. Geralt is having none of it - he flings his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders, pulling him close until their chests are flush.

With a soft sound, Jaskier kisses him more firmly, parting Geralt’s lips with his tongue. Geralt feels a fluttering in his chest, like his heart is a bird about to take flight. Jaskier’s mouth is soft and sure, and his hands are so warm. Geralt’s never had a kiss like this, and he knows immediately that he’ll never have enough of it.

Jaskier pulls away slowly. He touches his forehead to Geralt’s and laughs, a giddy sound that Geralt echoes. They laugh together, caught up in the bliss of having just kissed the person you love - even though Jaskier hasn’t said it, Geralt _knows_ \- and then they kiss again, just because they can.

As Jaskier’s lips move against his own, Geralt realizes that everything is different now, though nothing has really changed. Soon they’ll pack up their camp and move on. Geralt will take contracts, Jaskier will perform in taverns, and they’ll share food, coin, and a bed, just like always. But now he can hold Jaskier close as they sleep; he can look at him openly, unashamed; he can _kiss_ Jaskier, whenever he wants.

“Geralt?” Jaskier murmurs. “Where’d you go?”

“Here.” Geralt kisses the tip of Jaskier’s nose and smiles. “Don’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Look at you,” Jaskier teases, “using words to share your feelings. I’m so proud.”

“Oh, piss off.” Geralt tugs on a lock of Jaskier’s hair and laughs at the dramatic sound Jaskier makes. He lays down and pulls Jaskier with him, then shifts until he’s half-atop Jaskier. He’s suddenly exhausted.

“Fever’s not gone just yet,” Jaskier says. “Rest, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

Geralt hums and closes his eyes. He feels Jaskier press a kiss to the crown of his head. Knowing that he’ll wake up in Jaskier’s arms sends a little thrill through Geralt’s belly. He drifts off to the sound of Jaskier’s heartbeat, strong and steady, alive and full of love.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on Twitter [@stonedgeralt](https://www.twitter.com/stonedgeralt)!
> 
> Special thanks to Eman, smiecht, OrgasmicCrayons, and Kendra for their support!


End file.
